


Dreaming of Ice and Fire

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dragons, Dreaming, F/M, Romance, Shipping, ice and fire, steam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreams of fire eating away at him, and she dreams of ice freezing her in place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming of Ice and Fire

He dreams of her, steam rising from her skin as she leans against the freezing cold wall, clad in nothing but Dothraki garb, blazing with summer.

She dreams of him, ice cold sweat dripping down his skin as she runs her arm down his chest, winter in a land of heat.

Jon Snow dreams of dragons, melting the wall with hot breath until he stands alone, just him between the others and Westeros, but he’s not alone because summer is with him, her and her dragons.

Dany dreams of ice, covering her people, freezing them where they stand, but it doesn’t touch her, and a man stands there, dressed in furs of winter and carrying a sword, and she knows that she would be frozen if he willed it, but he _doesn’t._

He dreams of her, hot breath and hot skin, laughing in a way that has no place in the harshness of the wall.

She dreams of him, ice cold fingers and frozen breath, standing straight and proud in the sun, refusing to cow under the weight of summer.

He dreams of the sun, laughing and smiling and arriving on dragons, silver hair and purple eyes, crinkled eyes and hot breath.

She dreams of winter, cold and proud and beautiful, straight and tall as the immense wall, dark hair and dark eyes, raised eyebrows and a just parted mouth.

Jon Snow first sees her sitting on the Iron Throne, where he moves to bend the knee and she stares at him, lifting her head imperiously.

But her eyes are not crinkled and laughing and her dragons are nowhere to be seem; she is not clad in Dothraki garb and steam does not rise from her skin.

But he isn’t frozen with winter, nor is he proud and beautiful, and ice cold sweat doesn’t drip down his skin.

“You are dismissed, Commander,” she says with a wave of her hand.

But they both go to bed that night and _dream._


End file.
